


Relax, Relapse

by harrisonbored



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, F/M, Han Solo Needs A Hug, I will populate that tag by myself if I have to, M/M, Slightly More Graphic Than Canon Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrisonbored/pseuds/harrisonbored
Summary: Han has always had a difficult time connecting with people, despite his desire for intimacy with others.(Or, an exploration of Han Solo and his anxiety.)





	Relax, Relapse

**Author's Note:**

> “[Harrison] said that Han is always torn between that sense that he was, in a way, an orphan, and therefore both yearned for connection with people and struggled with it at the same time. I thought that was pretty interesting.”
> 
> HAN SOLO HAS AVOIDANT PERSONALITY DISORDER AND ANXIETY AND HARRISON FORD SAID SO IT’S CANON
> 
> this also shares similar background elements to my other fic “my mom” but they aren’t related and obviously one isn’t required to understand the other (i just have an overarching headcanon childhood for han that’ll probably get obliterated when solo comes out)

People come, people hurt you, and then they leave. That was the lesson Han Solo took from nearly every interaction in his early life. 

His father, abusive husband and neglectful dad, walked out when he was six. He hadn’t been great before, mind, but when he was there (and in a halfway decent mood- Dad was never in a good mood) things felt whole. Or at least maintained the appearance of whole.

Later, Han could never figure out why he’d wanted him to hang around so badly. He never made Han feel good. Every attempt at trying to please or impress him ended in, at best, an annoyed grunt, or, at worst, a berating, drunken rant that completely humiliated him.

But Han guessed it was because every family on the holodramas had a Mom and a Dad. It was just... Normal. And Han wanted to be as normal as possible, despite abject poverty. And the way Dad talked about it, they were better than normal.

(“Honestly, we do have a better relationship than most of our friends,” he’d overheard Dad saying as he watched Mama put ice on her bruised eye.)

Also, Han wanted affection, wanted a relationship with his father. It was apparently too much to ask for, though.

One day, Dad went to work like he always did; early in the morning, before Han was awake. 

He took his things with him and never came back. 

Mama died two years later, and though she never said anything to him about it, he always had that crushing feeling that Dad leaving was all his fault. He heard what they fought about: mostly money, but Han was often the reason they never had any money. And when money wasn’t the thinly veiled reason for the argument, it was always just straight-up about Han.

By the time he was ten, Han was homeless. He roamed the streets, looking for unsuspecting pockets to pick and unattended food to grab. Stealing from people who were nice to beggars and other homeless kids were off-limits for him; the same couldn’t really be said for some of his “friends.”

Those, like everything else, were in short supply, too. There was safety numbers, true. Less likely to be grabbed by slavers, less likely to get caught in a more elaborate scheme, less likely to get robbed blind in your sleep. Still, when you were being robbed blind, it was usually by the people who had spent time working with you.

Han also became an unpopular person to work with as he entered his adolescence. Not only did he hit puberty earlier than most of the other kids, losing his baby-soft features, replaced by a scraggly jawline and a crooked nose (caused by a fight he’d gotten in not long after his mothers death), he also got bigger, and not the good kind of bigger. He wasn’t muscular, he was lanky and awkward and stuck out too much. 

It didn’t really dawn on him, though, until an attempted robbery at an Imperial outpost went completely wrong. 

“You!” A boy from the group he’d been palling around with shouted, poking a grubbing finger into Han’s chest. 

“What?” Han asked, defensively.

“You look too grown! You completely blow our cover!” he accused.

“What?” Han repeated, his voice catching in his throat. 

“Face it, Solo,” chimed in another kid, “you do look almost like a grown man. If you could grow a beard, nobody’d think you weren’t an adult.”

“Get lost, Solo,” said the first boy, picking up an empty can and chucking it at Han’s head. 

With his “friends” gone and his livelihood no longer viable, Han had to explore other options. 

Smugglers coming in and out of Corellia’s dirty spaceports were always looking for an extra set of hands. Han passed for old enough to be working at fourteen, and smugglers weren’t exactly filing Imperial taxes, so no questions were asked. He worked on a ship for one, two jobs, then jumped to another ship before people could start to learn anything about him. He’d learned from the street kids on Corellia that the less they knew about him, the better. He didn’t need anyone trying to take advantage of his sob story- or worse, trying to pity him.

Still, it quickly became a delicate balance of making enough of a connection to be trusted, but not enough that Han could ever be hurt. He still craved that close connection he’d never had with anyone, though.

One ship that he lasted on a little longer than average was piloted by a human woman from Naboo. The crew was small, just her, her two Twi’lek grunts, and Han. She was about fifteen years Han’s senior, and she was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. 

Her name was Starla, and Han was convinced that she would have made it has a holo actress. She had the looks and she had the chops. Han was smitten and barely legal.

Still, Starla liked to have a good time, and barely legal was still legal. 

Han figured that even when he was old and gray, he’d never be more embarrassed than the time he shot off too early in front of her. To be fair, the only other people he’d ever had sex with were equally inexperienced people his own age, and there had only been about two of those. 

Of course, Starla had to take it upon herself to completely humiliate him in front of the rest of the crew. 

“Solo, Solo, Solo,” she’d chided, in an almost motherly voice. “I should have known you were too young for me. It’s bad enough that your face looks like that-“

Han took off to his cabin in the cargo hold after that, and when they touched down at the next spaceport, Han left and never said a word to her again. 

Another thing to never reveal to someone else: his naked body. Sex was fine, but he could live without it. He comforted himself that it was good that he’d never actually made it inside of her- she probably would have given him a disease. 

(He knew it was mean-spirited, but what she’d done to him was even worse.)

Han decided to give up the lawless life for a while. He was sick to death of being on the run, tired of the constant fear, and just wanted to feel like a good person for the first time maybe ever.

So when an Academy recruiter approached him in a cantina on Dantooine, Han took him up right away. 

He already had an advance on most of the other new pilots, having helped copilot several of the ships he’d worked on over the past few years. He rose through the ranks quickly enough to garner some unwanted attention from superiors. Han had grown to dislike attention; not only was it bad when trying to lie low as a smuggler, it more often than not ended in embarrassment for him.

Finishing out puberty had been kind to him, though. His hair had grown out, and cutting and washing it regularly had given it a healthy sheen it hadn’t had since childhood. His face had grown into his nose, and his jaw had firmed up. Han was almost scared one day when he looked in the mirror and found himself staring at a grown man, rather than a gangly teenager. 

This, of course, attracted even more unwanted attention. Because of his appearance, his uncaring, aloof nature came off as mysterious and sexy rather than unappealing as it had in his youth, which just made it worse, honestly. 

He’d started (selectively) having sex again, but nearly every time he finished he disappeared into the refresher to try not to panic. Too close, too much pressure, too afraid of revealing too much and being embarrassed _again_ -

By the end of his first year at the Academy, Han decided that the feeling he hated the most was embarrassment. It was why he only slept around. His teammates were all in relationships, but relationships required more than just casual sex. 

His missions went smoothly. He was a natural born leader with a well-learned ability to completely detach himself emotionally from the task at hand. It was a coping mechanism, nothing more, and nearly always ended with him in silent tears in the shower.

Of course, it would eventually reach a point where he couldn’t keep emotionally isolating himself. Something had to give. 

It was the fucking Wookiee. 

The raid was supposed to be a simple one. A bunch of inexperienced smugglers had flown in too close to Imperial territory, a mistake Han was shaking his head at from the moment they’d been given the command. Another advantage: Han thought like a smuggler, and not a dumb one, either. 

These smugglers weren’t so dumb as to get caught, though. They’d left in the escape pods long before they were boarded, leaving their cargo behind. 

The Empire didn’t do much about smugglers outside of locking them up and taking their cargo. Usually, the cargo was just sold off to glorified smugglers working for the Empire. If the criminals were sneaky enough, they could usually get away with little more than a slap on the wrist. Han knew this from experience. 

Still, in all his years, Han had only ever worked on a slaver ship once, and had vowed to never do it again.

He’d seen the looks on those girls’ faces when they’d been handed off to their “owner.” Han never wanted to see anyone’s face like that again.

Wookiees were big, tough, and, due to a language barrier, generally easy to portray as dangerous savages. Han knew there was a big market for Wookiee slaves. They were perfect for manual labor, if you could control them.

Apparently, these smugglers were aware of the Empire’s propensity for profiting off of smugglers’ confiscated cargos, because nearly all of them had been slaughtered. Except for one. 

Han and his second-in-command had been the ones to investigate. 

“Hells,” the other man whistled through his teeth, looking at the carnage. “Is one worth it, Solo?”

 _Of course one is worth it, you shit!_ “Dunno. Might still be worth something if we bring it in,” Han replied coldly.

“We could just shoot the fucker. Wonder if Wookiee fur goes for anything on the market?”

“Hmm.” Han’s tone was flat, but the blaster in his hands shook with rage. 

“Eh, I’ll just take it out. It’ll be easier than wrestling with the paperwork if they’re all dead, right?”

Han couldn’t hold it back anymore. He tackled the man standing next to him, and wrestled him to the ground. On his way, he gashed his chin on his own blaster. 

“What the hell, Solo?”

“Shut the fuck up, _shut the fuck up_ -“ Han repeated. All he could see were the slave girls’ eyes, and how that Wookiee’s eyes looked exactly the same.

Before he knew what had happened, there was a bang and blood was all over him and there was no more struggle. Han leaned back on his haunches and stared blankly at the wall. He could hear the Wookiee moving behind him. 

_I hope it kills me_ , Han thought dully. 

He realized that the Wookiee wasn’t restrained, leaving him to believe that it was by complete chance that he hadn’t been killed, too. The crew must have abandoned ship without time to destroy the final piece of their shipment. 

Han reached up and blindly touched his chin. It was bleeding profusely, blood pouring down his shirt, mixing with the blood of the dead man beneath him. It stung, but the adrenaline in his system kept it from hurting as badly as he knew it should. 

A heavy paw landed on his shoulder. Han’s Shriiwook wasn’t even conversational, but he was able to understand the gist of the wookiee’s plan. 

There were two escape pods left on the massive ship. They dragged the body to one of them and set it adrift. Luckily, the rest of their squadron was still on the Imperial cruiser, awaiting further instruction. 

Once the body was disposed of, Han and the wookiee crammed themselves inside of the other escape pod and launched out into space, leaving behind Han’s commlink so that they couldn’t be tracked. 

Han thought about his few belongings back on base. They would either assume he was dead or a deserter, so they’d throw them out regardless. Han didn’t mind. Everything he owned had been given to him upon his arrival at the academy, anyways. 

_I can get us a ship_ , said the Wookiee eventually. Han looked up and made eye contact. 

“How?” Han asked, voice cracking. 

Han didn’t understand what it said in response. 

They landed on an outer rim planet, smack in the middle of nowhere. It was blessedly cool, so the walk to civilization wasn’t completely unbearable. Han’s chin was really starting to hurt now, and he was pretty sure infection had begun to set in. The Wookiee trailed behind him, not saying much. 

They reached a small town at sunset. Han had enough credits on his person to secure them a hotel room for a few nights and to buy some food. By the time they’d settled into the room, it hurt for Han to move his mouth in the slightest. 

_Can’t... like that._ Han’s Shriiwook was mostly failing him.

“What?” Han asked. “Can you, like, write in basic?” 

The Wookiee nodded, taking a pad and scribbling out in incredibly messy letters, _you can’t eat like that._

“I’m aware,” Han replied dryly. 

_There was a first aid kit at the shop downstairs,_ it wrote. _If you’ll give me the credits, I’ll go get it._

Every part of Han’s body was screaming at how bad an idea this was. Give a complete stranger what little untraceable money he had left. Han knew it was going to take his credits and leave him for dead, but at this point, he didn’t care. He was another wrong jaw movement away from putting a blaster hole through his own chest. 

Han unbelievably handed the credits over, and the Wookiee disappeared out the door. He then laid out on one of the beds and waited for whatever higher power there was to strike him dead. 

Apparently, he just dozed off, because he was shaken awake by a large, fuzzy paw. 

_Sit up_ was scrawled on the pad. 

Han nodded drowsily and let himself be guided up off of the mattress, the touch surprisingly tender. He was pushed into the refresher, where he sat on the edge of the sink. 

The Wookiee took a wet, warm cloth and cleaned the dried blood off of his face. Han drank from a bottle of cheap whiskey to numb the pain of the stitches and disinfectant. It took a long time, long enough that Han began to grow edgy. Eventually, though, the spot was covered with gauze and Han was allowed to move around.

_It will probably leave a scar._

“I know,” Han mumbled. “You never even told me your name,” he added. 

The Wookiee nodded and said the name out loud before writing it down in basic. In Shriiwook, Han recognized the self-identifying male tone. 

“Chewbacca, huh?” 

The Wookiee nodded. 

“Well, Chewbacca, I appreciate the medical care, but you really don’t have to hang around,” Han said. “You’re not... I don’t own you, okay?”

Chewbacca scribbled something furiously on the pad. 

_You saved my life. In my culture, that calls for a life debt. I am indebted to your service._

Han wanted to argue, to excuse Chewbacca from whatever cultural obligation he was feeling, because Han really felt uncomfortable with it. But because of the long, horrible, irreversible day and a half he had just been through, he just burst into tears. 

It was like Chewbacca didn’t know what to do at first. Here was this grown-ass human man, sobbing on the counter, every inch of him covered in blood and dirt. Han didn’t blame him for possibly regretting the life debt, and was about to release him from it, when he felt himself being tugged against his chest.

Han could only make out about every third or fourth word, but he heard “cub” muttered frequently, which just made him cry more. He was both thoroughly embarrassed and completely heartbroken. 

It dawned on Han that this was the first intimate touch he’d received that wasn’t sexual since childhood. 

_Smell... Dirty..._ Han made out eventually, pulling away some. He scrubbed at his red-rimmed eyes with his palms, staring up at Chewbacca. 

“Sorry,” Han mumbled, drawing in on himself. “I’m too fuckin’ old to do that...”

Chewbacca basically rolled his eyes. On the pad he wrote, _Cub, if you were a Wookiee, you would barely be a child._

“Humans work differently from Wookiees,” Han replied, falling back on his secondary defense mechanism of meanness. 

Still, Chewbacca didn’t get angry or start making fun of him. 

_Bathe and leave your clothes out here with me. I will clean them._

Han was ungodly pissed at the fat tears that refused to stop rolling down his face. “Okay,” he said, finally, unable to do much else. “Thanks.”

Chewbacca just replied with the Shriiwook “you’re welcome.”

Han undressed in the shower, thrusting his clothes out without looking outside. Chewbacca took the clothes from him and left him alone, closing the refresher door behind him.

This hotel only had sonics, but anything felt good to Han at that point. He stayed there for three cleansing cycles, reveling in the hum off the mechanics. He was still crying when he climbed out, but at least it wasn’t full-on sobbing anymore. 

Chewbacca had left him a pile of clean clothes on the counter, which he quietly dressed in. Han noted they weren’t his, and wondered if he had gone down the road to find a shop still open. 

_Cleaning them did not work, Chewbacca wrote, I had to throw them out._

“Fine by me,” Han said.

_I will work on finding us a ship tomorrow. Tonight, you have to eat and rest._

“Okay.”

Han ate undercooked rations and finished off the whiskey for dinner, before laying down in the bed he hadn’t laid in before, because those blankets were covered in blood. 

“Where are you gonna sleep?” Han asked, drunk and dead tired. 

Chewbacca said something that Han vaguely interpreted as beds being too warm for him, although he was sure that wasn’t right.

“Just... Make me move if you wanna sleep...” Han mumbled, growing incoherent. 

Han did understand that he was being shushed as the blankets were pulled up to his chin and he fell asleep. 

The next few days were spent lying low. Chewbacca would come and go from the hotel room throughout the day, bringing more clothes, rationing out the credits (apparently he’d been gambling across the street to make more), and making sure Han ate and drank water. Han felt like he was being treated like a child, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched mindless holochannels for twelve hours a standard day and slept the other twelve.

On the last day before their payment on the hotel room was up, Chewbacca came in, announcing that he had procured them a ship.

“Like, an actual ship?” Han asked, still drowsy from the nap Chewbacca had woken him from. “Or just working on a ship?”

 _I won the jackpot gambling,_ Chewbacca wrote. _It’s enough to buy a small cargo ship._

Han nodded, unsure how to feel. He’d come to trust Chewbacca over the past few days, enough to let him manhandle him and force food on him and let him wake him up from nightmares. Not once had Chewbacca made fun of him for it. Chewbacca had made fun of his haircut, but it was obvious teasing. Nothing personal or malicious.

_You were a smuggler before the Empire, correct?_

“Yeah, on other people’s ships.”

_We can hope you’re good enough to do it yourself._

The ship was obviously secondhand. It controlled terribly, but Han had piloted worse. Chewbacca was a surprisingly excellent copilot. 

He hadn’t been wrong that the wound would scar. Han was almost self conscious about it, before he overheard Chewie snort, _I think it looks badass..._

Which made Han laugh hard enough, both at the comment and that he could understand a full sentence in Shriiwook, that he was able to get over it.

Han hadn’t forgotten much, if anything, from his smuggling days. Only finally he had his own ship and wasn’t constantly hopping around. He’d found a first mate he could trust, and he was secretly glad not many other people could speak Shriiwook. Nobody could take Chewie away from him.

(Not that anybody could. Beyond the life debt, Chewbacca was not-at-all secretly fond of Han. It had basically become his life’s purpose to keep Han from getting himself killed, and Chewie didn’t regret it one bit.)

It became obvious, eventually, that they would need a new ship. Han was slowly building up a reputation as one of the most reliable- if pricy- smugglers in the galaxy. The ship, on the other hand, was becoming the exact opposite of reliable. 

Then Han met Lando. 

Lando had a very nice ship. And a very nice face. And a very nice laugh. 

But Han pretended to only notice the ship.

Lando was also as much a conman as he was, if not even better. Lando was smooth and approachable while Han was closed-off and a little edgy. Despite that, they made a perfect team together, with Chewie as the getaway driver and voice of reason. 

Han still wasn’t sure what Lando saw in him, but at the time, he was glad he did. Lando made Han feel loved- and true, so did Chewie, but that was like a parent keeping their kid from killing themselves. This was completely different. 

Lando rubbed feeling back into the places that Han thought had gone irreparably numb years ago. He made him feel safe, which led into a vicious cycle of Han binge-venting to him then isolating himself for days. Lando was patient with him, if a bit frustrated. 

When it boiled down to it, though, they were good business partners, regardless of what they did together in their spare time. 

Han laid in his bunk on Lando’s ship, the Millennium Falcon, staring up at the ceiling. He heard the door open, and he knew it was Lando before he even felt a weight settle on the side of the bed.

“Hey,” Lando said, tapping Han’s hand. 

“Hi,” Han replied.

“Chewie ‘n I are going to the casino tonight.” Lando clinked a cold bottle against Han’s hand. “Wanna get a head start?”

“Sure.” Han took the bottle and sat up. He drained half of it in one sip, scrunching up his face slightly at the taste.

Lando laughed at that, but echoed the sentiment when he took his own swig. 

Two hours later, after a quick fuck and an even quicker shower, the two strolled into the casino, Chewie trailing behind them. Han kept his hand linked loosely with Lando’s, both of them just tipsy enough to be unafraid to show off a little. 

Han and Lando slid into a booth and jumped in on an ongoing Sabacc game. Han and Lando played against each other, knowing that whatever money came out of the pot, if either of them won, would probably end up going towards their business anyways. 

Lando kept the drinks flowing, long after Han felt he needed to stop. (Something else to watch- the drunker you are, the easier it is to embarrass yourself. Han never had more than a couple drinks in public, never enough to get him truly, shitfaced drunk.) Lando was beginning to make some pretty ridiculous bets, but he hadn’t raffled off anything that wasn’t his yet, so...

“All right,” Lando slurred, still surprisingly charismatic, “I’ll put the old girl on it! My ship, a Corellian freighter!” 

Han froze. To be fair, the Falcon was Lando’s ship, not Han’s. Han and Chewie had their own ship, and what Lando wanted to do with his was his business.

Still, Han had a soft spot for the Millennium Falcon, and he knew that none of the filth they were playing with would respect her like she deserved. 

Han stared down at his Sabaac hand. He had to win this round. 

The game went on, Lando clearly not caring that he had raffled off a part of his livelihood. To be fair, Lando could probably afford to buy another ship if he needed one. It wasn’t quite as big a deal as it was to Han. 

Han turned to his own hand, taking in the cards. To his utter delight, it was a near perfect hand. Han immediately showed his cards claiming the round for himself. 

The rest of the table groaned, but pushed the pot over to him. Han, glad to quit while he was ahead, rose up from the table. He ignored Lando’s disbelieving stare as he strode over to where Chewie was working at a machine.

“I’m headed out, pal,” Han said. “See you back at the ship.”

Chewie growled in agreement and turned back to his game. Han headed out into the cool, nighttime air, breathing in his victory. 

His breath was cut short as someone grabbed him from behind, sloppily slamming him into a wall.

“What the hell?” Lando shouted, clearly drunker than he had seemed at the table. 

“I wasn’t just gonna let you gamble away the Falcon like that!” Han replied, pushing Lando away from him. He felt his heart rate rapidly increase. 

Lando gave him a wounded look. “I was gonna win her back!”

Han rolled his eyes. “Yeah, as drunk as you are. Look, I had a perfect hand, I played it. The Falcon’s still in our possession, what’s the big deal?”

“It’s my ship!” Lando cried, as if it was obvious. 

“Your ship?” Han asked, incredulous. “Forget all my ‘our’ bullshit, she’s mine now!”

“You only ever did like me for my ship!” Lando accused, crossing his arms. It was dark, but Han could swear Lando was tearing up.

“What?” Han said, heart dropping into his stomach. 

“Yeah, why else do you always go in circles with me? One day it’s all ‘you and me forever, babe’ and then the next you barely even speak to me! You don’t like me, just come out and say it, Solo!”

Han’s stomach ached now, bile rising up in his throat. It was too much, too hard to explain. 

“Lando, it’s not-“

“Go!” Lando yelled, cutting him off and shoving him away. “Fuck off, take my ship! See if I care!”

Han stood there, mouth gaping, unable to move. Lando stared at him, frustrated, before groaning and storming back inside the casino. 

Fighting back a sob, Han ran to his and Chewie’s ship and buried himself in his bunk. He pulled the blankets over his head, trying to breathe. He hated being yelled at, hated the attention, hated someone he almost trusted hating him and it being all his fault-

Chewbacca, in the doorway, made a soft noise. Han didn’t bother to comprehend. 

“‘M fine,” Han insisted, biting his knuckles to keep his breath from hitching. “I just wanna sleep.”

Chewie let out a concerned, frustrated groan, but left him be.

Han tried to sleep, and managed to doze off for a few moments, before someone was crawling on top of him.

“Lando, what the hell?”

“I’m sorry,” Lando mumbled, even more inebriated than he had been last time. “I’m so sorry-“

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean it, I was mad about the ship-“

“You can have her back.”

“She’s yours.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Han replied without thinking.

He made most of his best decisions that way. 

Lando fell asleep on top of him, on top of the covers, his face pressed into the base of Han’s neck. Han woke up to a very hungover Lando trying to force breakfast in bed on him. 

“Did Chewie make this?”

“Do I look like I’m in any position to be making food?” 

Han shrugged and dove in.

Lando reluctantly handed Han over the Falcon. As a “consolation prize,” Han gave him his and Chewie’s old ship, which Lando immediately traded for a better one. Han didn’t blame him, to be honest. 

That was how the next two years went. Lando bemoaning the loss of his ship became an inside joke, although nothing else about that night did. Lando and Han took up semi-permanent residence in each other’s beds, seldom ever sleeping alone. Han finally felt a little bit more equipped to open up, but he still held back a little more than maybe he should.

Han was settled, content, happy even.

Then he overheard the conversation.

It was deep into the sleep cycle, Lando and Chewie sitting at the holochess table on the Falcon. Han had woken up alone, Lando’s side of the bed cold, so he’d gone off in search of him. 

Noting his and Chewie’s hushed tone, he kept out of sight, listening in on their conversation. He couldn’t make out much of what Lando was saying, but Chewbacca had never been known for being soft-spoken. 

_So you have thought about this?_

Lando replied with something muddled. 

_Han is very... Han. It is hard to put a name to it. You know how he is about anyone getting too close._

Lando’s voice raised just enough for Han to hear what he was saying. 

“I know that, but I think we’ve moved past that.”

_You may be right. So, is this you, how do they put it... Asking for my blessing for some reason?_

Lando laughed wryly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

_When are you planning on asking?_

“At the party that our customer was so gracious to invite us to.” Lando knew exactly how Han felt about parties, especially the ones where it felt like he was networking the entire time. “I’ll take him off to the side, ask him in some private way, ‘cause I know he hates attention like that.”

Lando pulled out a small box. He was facing away from Han, so he couldn’t see it, but Han knew exactly what was inside. 

“I don’t know if Han would’ve preferred something other than a ring, but it’s simple and I don’t think that it’ll be in the way.”

 _I think it is perfect,_ Chewbacca agreed. 

At this point, Han felt so much like he was going to vomit that he dashed to the refresher. He leaned against the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He didn’t know when he had started crying, but he had. 

He heard footsteps go past the refresher door and into the main cabin. They stopped, then went back to the refresher. One, two, three knocks. 

“Han? You in there?” 

“Uh, yeah, gimme a second,” Han called back, splashing some water on his face. Too late to save his already red-rimmed eyes, Han quickly came up with another excuse as to why he was upset. 

“What’s wrong?” Lando asked as soon as he stepped out of the refresher. 

“Uh, had a bad nightmare,” Han mumbled, and while it wasn’t the truth, it certainly felt like he was living in a nightmare. 

“Oh,” Lando said, tone softening. He swept a thumb under Han’s eye, either wiping away a tear or a drop of water. 

“I woke up and you weren’t there, so...” Han felt bad for laying it on so thick, but it was necessary to completely divert Lando’s attention from his and Chewie’s conversation.

“Oh, Han,” Lando murmured, leaning up to kiss Han’s forehead. Shame burned hot in Han’s stomach.

“C’mon, let’s go back to bed.” Lando let go of Han’s face and followed him into the cabin. Han crawled into bed first, trapping himself between Lando and the wall, something that had comforted him only hours before. 

Now it felt like suffocating. 

“Must’ve been one hell of a dream,” Lando commented, pressed against Han’s back. “Your heart’s pounding.”

“You have no idea,” Han mumbled, chest aching. 

Han could never get his heart rate to go down. He felt claustrophobic in his cramped bed, desperate to crawl away from Lando and never talk to him again, but also to bury his face in his chest and tell him how much he loved him but he can’t do this-

Lando’s grip went slack, obviously having fallen asleep. 

Han took his golden moment to delicately extract himself and take up residence in the pilot’s seat, staring out at the hyperspace lights and crying again.

Lando didn’t say anything about it the next morning, and he wasn’t overly clingy the next few nights, so Han was able to sleep for at least a couple hours.

The night of the party, Han watched as Lando meticulously got ready. Han couldn’t sit still, fidgety and nervous while Lando slicked back his hair. 

“You ready for tonight?” Lando asked. 

“I don’t know,” Han answered truthfully. 

“It’ll be fun,” Lando reassured him.

“If you say so,” Han sighed. 

The customer who had invited him lived on Bespin, in a new mining settlement. Most of the people there were businessmen, bureaucrats of some type, or some variation of slick, glorified conman. 

As opposed to Han, who was just a regular conman.

Han could feel Lando trying to pull him away at nearly every opportunity, and Han used every excuse in the book not to go off with him. Chewie kept giving him strange looks, trying to come between him and various strangers that he used as distractions or a reason to hang around. 

“I just need to use the refresher,” Han said, finally able to shake Lando off of his side. 

Lando gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

Han, grateful Lando hadn’t tried to follow him, smiled and hurried off. As he passed Chewie, he leaned over and hissed, “Come find me, but don’t make it conspicuous.”

Chewie met up with Han on an abandoned upper floor balcony. 

“Lando’s takin’ a shuttle to get back to his ship, right?” Han asked. “Since we have to leave the day after tomorrow, and he’s not interested in trying to wrestle live shipments?”

Chewbacca growled in confirmation. 

“Okay, good.” Han borderline ran back inside, Chewie trailing after him, demanding answers. 

“I’ll leave his things with an assistant, they’ll know what to do with them-“

_Han, what are you going on about?_

“We’re leaving. I can’t do this.”

We _are leaving?_

“Life debt, remember?” Han reminded him mockingly. “We’re leaving. Business arrangement with Lando is over. It was fun while it lasted.”

_We cannot leave, you cannot_ \- 

“I can and I will. I’ll apologize to Lando if I ever see him again.”

Reaching the Falcon, Han took Lando’s neatly organized things and used his comm to call in an assistant to deal with them. Han considering leaving a note, but he knew this would be too hard to explain, so he just hoped Lando wouldn’t hate him.

Or maybe it would be better if he did. 

_Lando was planning on proposing,_ Chewbacca informed him, no longer caring about spoiling the surprise.

“I was aware, buddy. I’ve known for about five days now. What else did you think this was about?”

Han began the liftoff sequence. “Now help me pilot this damn thing, or so help me-“

Chewbacca growled begrudgingly, relenting and sitting down in the copilot’s seat.

As Han watched Bespin’s surface disappear behind them, he knew this was the choice he had to make. He didn’t know what he would have said if Lando had actually managed to ask him. He might have said no, destroyed the whole relationship worse than what he was doing now.

He might have said yes, and that scared him more than saying no.

From then on out, it was just him and Chewbacca. It was better that way, anyways. 

That didn’t mean Han didn’t think about Lando, think about going back for him, think about saying yes every day for the next six standard months. It would have been too much, though, or at least that’s what he told himself.

Years passed. Han kept himself away from the Empire and fully immersed in illegal smuggling, especially spice. And if there was one thing that led to, it was a lot of counterintuitive trouble.

Then again, Tatooine was always trouble. 

The old man had just wanted transport for two people and two droids. He’d promised to pay a hefty amount, enough to pull Han’s ass out of the hole. (Lando had always been better with money than him, but he wasn’t thinking about Lando anymore.)

Luke Skywalker was cute, but he wasn’t worth the trouble he’d brought. 

So now, Han Solo, king of no commitments, was now basically a freedom fighter in the rebellion. Luke was thrilled. Leia, not so much.

Still, Luke and Leia were the first two people to take his mind off of Lando since he’d left Bespin.

Luke was attached to Han by the hip after the first Death Star. Any time Han went to go work, Luke wasn’t far behind, asking to help or how a certain ship mechanic worked. He was naive as they come, but something about it was endearing to Han.

Luke had also taken a fondness to sleeping in the main cabin, in the bunk across from Han’s. Han wouldn’t have a problem with it, if it weren’t for the main appeal of sleeping in the main cabin was that Luke could wake Han up after a nightmare. 

Han still couldn’t find it in him to complain, though, listening to Luke until he felt talked-out enough to go back to sleep. 

“You’re a good listener. Thanks, Han,” Luke had mumbled one night, as he dozed back off.

“No problem, kid,” Han replied, his chest tightening.

Despite that, Leia came first, all spitfire and spunk. She argued with Han constantly, but he never felt like she was trying to embarrass him or break down boundaries. If anything, she was just as guarded as him.

The trip back to Bespin proved that.

On top of Han’s ever-increasing anxiety about seeing Lando again, being trapped in such a tiny space with such an imposing princess was horrifying. They’d stopped screaming at each other, but that had been replaced with the two of them dancing around each other, trying to figure out where each other’s boundaries laid.

Han almost missed the screaming.

Every night, Leia would have nightmares, Han would wake up from her thrashing from her nightmares, then they would spend the rest of the night with Han trying to take care of her without being invasive, which was a little hard, considering Leia was just as protective of her inner mechanisms as Han was. 

“Leia, they’re not gonna go away unless you talk about them,” Han said. 

“It’s not your problem,” Leia snapped. 

“It is, as long as we’re sharin’ a bed.”

Leia sighed. “I- I know. I’m sorry. It’s hard on you, too, I know. But it’s so difficult to just-“

“Be vulnerable?”

“Yeah.”

Han thought for a long moment. He knew Leia. He trusted her with his life, and had done so several times. From the Death Star to her covering his back during missions to her even defending him against some elitist ass who had accused him of stealing and selling resistance-owned materials.

So he made a very stupid or very wise decision, he would probably never figure out which.

“All right. How about this. You know how protective I am of my personal business?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, if I tell you somethin’ personal about me, you can tell me somethin’ about those dreams you have. Sound like a fair trade?”

“It sounds like how my friends got me to tell them who I liked in grade school,” Leia replied dryly. 

“I already know who you like, sweetheart.”

“Oh good, so then you’ll talk me up to Chewie?”

Han laughed at that. “Anything for you, Leia.”

Leia grinned at him. “Fine. But you go first.”

Han nodded, digging through his brain to find something to tell her. The first place his brain went was Lando, but he decided it was too relevant. 

Instead he imparted the Starla story. 

“Oh gods,” Leia mumbled, wide-eyed and almost laughing. 

“You can laugh,” Han said, and secretly wished she wouldn’t.

“No, no!” Leia said, composing herself. “That’s awful. She shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m over it now, mostly,” Han only sort of lied. 

“Still. Let me guess, nobody knows about that but that crew?”

“And now you.”

“Not even Chewie?”

“Not even Chewie.”

Leia paused, staring at him for a long moment. 

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The last one was about Alderaan.”

Han nodded, giving her time to talk. 

“I was on the Death Star, watching it below me. It was exactly like it was that day, only it kept happening over and over and over. And every time it happened, the screams got louder and louder. Until it was just deafening white noise. And then you woke me up.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” Han mumbled, unable to say anything else. 

“Don’t pity me,” Leia warned. 

“‘M not,” Han replied. “Just empathizing.” 

“Is that any different?”

“Yeah. Pity’s when you think someone’s a poor soul who’s all banged up and damaged. Trust me, Leia, you’re far from damaged.”

Leia smiled at that, looking away from him. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. 

“Do I love you?” Leia asked, like he could answer.

“I dunno, sweetheart.”

“Do you love me?”

“Maybe. But I do know that I care about you,” he answered honestly. 

“Do you love Luke?”

Han froze. “I-“

“If you do, it’s fine.”

“I don’t know,” Han admitted. “Love’s a... A complicated thing for me.”

Leia snorted. “So you get it.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

The next two weeks to Bespin were a lot less agonizing after that. It became almost like a nightly ritual, swapping stories whenever Han had to wake Leia up. Sometimes, when Han had a shift while Leia was sleeping, she would come find him and tell him what had happened. 

She had long sense stopped asking for Han to share, too, but he still did. 

He never mentioned Lando, though. Or how he got the scar. Or anything else so personal it hurt to even think about. (Leia had asked about the scar, and he’d just offered the truthful but simplistic “I got it at the Academy.”)

The day they touched down on Bespin, Han’s hands were shaking so badly that he had stuck them in his jacket pockets to hide it. Chewbacca gave him knowing looks, but never said anything. Leia just looked grateful to finally have access to real showers again.

When Han saw Lando for the first time in nearly five years, he was floored with how different he seemed. True, Lando had given up his life of smuggling and had gone the way of politics, but he had upgraded his wardrobe to go along with it. 

Lando did not have kind words, at least not at first. 

“Why you slimy, no good, double-crossing swindler-“

It was fine, though. Han made a note to apologize, later, after the Falcon was fixed and they were headed to back to the Rebellion.

That didn’t happen.

After being thoroughly tortured by Vader, Han sat, aching and full of rage, looking at Lando.

“I was gonna apologize for endin’ our _thing_ so improperly, but fuck that,” Han growled, relishing in Leia rubbing at his sore muscles. 

“I didn’t have a choice!” Lando replied. “It was you or the entire city.”

Han rolled his eyes and relaxed back into Leia, who was offering Lando a dirty look of her own. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Han knew that he maybe, kind of deserved this, but not Chewie and certainly not Leia. 

When Vader and his guards came for them, Han was just ready for death. What actually came was far worse. 

As they strapped him into the carbonite chamber, everything ran through his head. The apology to Lando, reassuring him that he had loved him, he just couldn’t have handled that commitment without a breakdown. A thank you to Chewbacca, who had been there since he’d left the Empire with nothing. And Leia. Oh gods, Leia.

“I love you,” she said as they were pulled apart. 

_I love you, too. Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself. Tell Luke I love him, too. Take care of each other. You’ll be fine without me, I know you’ll be okay._ “I know,” he replied, unable to articulate his thoughts. 

Then it was dark and cold and hellish until Leia pulled him out into the dry, hot air of Jabba’s palace a year later. 

His eyes were useless, being guided around by Luke and Leia as they returned to the Falcon. 

“Thanks for comin’ after me, kid,” Han said blearily, unable to actually see if Leia was holding the comm up to his mouth. 

“Think nothing of it,” Luke replied, and Han could hear the tired smile in his voice. 

“All right,” Leia said, handing the comm back to Chewie. “You need to get some rest.”

“Just spent a year restin’,” Han retorted, but allowed Leia to push him into the refresher. The sonics were the only thing they had, but it suitably removed the sand and dust and whatever the hell else was on him from his body.

He also threw up twice, once before getting in and once after getting out, but who was counting?

Leia put him to bed, his head rested against her chest. She played with his hair while he listened to the sound of her heartbeat until he fell asleep. 

When he woke up, his sight was good enough to navigate the ship, even if things were still blurry. He decided it was as good a time as any to talk to Lando. Crawling over Leia’s still-sleeping form, he prayed that he wouldn’t vomit again.

Lando was sitting with Chewie in the cockpit, keeping watch as they flew back to Home One. 

“Hey, bud,” Han said, gently nudging Lando. “I need to speak to you.”

Lando nodded and followed Han out of the cockpit. They sat down in the main hold, Han looking dully around the room. 

“Your vision doing any better?” Lando asked. 

“I see fine,” Han replied. 

“Look, if you wanna apologize about running off, it’s fine. You don’t have to.”

“I only did it because I was scared of what would happen if I said yes,” Han confessed quickly, his mouth forming words before he had time to think about them. 

“I figured that out,” Lando said. “I can’t figure out how you found out, though.”

“Overheard you tellin’ Chewie. It freaked me out and I started crying. When you found me, I said it was a nightmare.”

“That’s what I assumed, but I didn’t know for sure.”

Han nodded. 

“You could’ve said no and stayed,” Lando said. 

“You know I couldn’t have.”

“Would you say yes now?”

Han’s heart stopped. “I’m not going to lie to you. Probably not.”

Lando laughed. “Good. I sold the ring the day after you left.”

Han burst out laughing, too. “Good.”

“So, is it Luke or Leia who replaced me?” Lando asked teasingly. 

Han sobered a little at that. “I- Uh...”

“You don’t know.” It’s not a question. 

“You’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not good at figuring any of that feelsy shit out,” Han said simply.

“What feelsy shit?” 

Han looked up and saw Leia standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

“How I’m gonna tell Chewie that you’re madly in love with him,” Han replied dryly.

“Oh, Lando didn’t tell you? We’ve been together since Fett took you to Jabba’s.”

“Well, that’s a load off my shoulders.” Han wiped fake sweat off of his brow.

Leia laughed at him, coming over and kissing his temple. Something about it felt odd, Leia being so affectionate in front of someone, especially someone that Han was sure she had figured out was his ex at this point. Still, he couldn’t spurn her affections.

The next few days moved like lightning, the idea of going fully respectable and being a Rebellion general not terrifying him like it had a year ago. Time only truly seemed to slow to a proper speed when Leia was dragging him and Luke away from the party after the Death Star’s defeat, into the warmth of her tiny Ewok hut.

The ceilings were so low that Han had to duck, but the bed was big enough to comfortably accommodate all three of them. Luke laid in the middle, his body visibly scarred from the Emperor’s attacks (a story he had only halfway told at this point, but Han knew enough to be angry.) Han had his arms wrapped around his waist, and Leia was lying on Luke’s other side, petting his hair.

It was all platonic between them now, Han knew. None of them wanted to be without the other two, regardless of what relationship they had. 

Leia returned to Home One in the morning, leaving Luke and Han to sleep in late. When Han woke up, Luke was already awake, but hadn’t bothered to move. 

“You okay?” Han asked, delicately prodding his side. 

“Yeah,” Luke replied absently. 

“Hey, tell me what’s wrong,” Han insisted, poking Luke again so that he would roll over to face him.

Luke sighed and pressed his face into Han’s chest. 

“I didn’t kill the Emperor. Vader did,” Luke said. 

“Why?” Han asked.

“Vader was my father,” Luke replied bluntly, obviously still tired and sore. “He... I knew there was good left in him, so I refused to kill him. The Emperor tried to kill me, so Vader attacked him to save my life.”

Han only made a sympathetic noise and pulled Luke into a tight hug.

Leia found them like that when she returned a few hours later, both having dozed off, and Luke with a tearstained face. She forced them out of bed to catch a shuttle to Home One themselves, which ended up in her marching them to the shuttle so that they wouldn’t just go find somewhere else to sleep. 

Han audibly sighed once he was in the water shower aboard the ship, though, and used his entire allotted time before the shower automatically shut off.

The shower and change of clothes were enough to wake him up, and Luke seemed to share that sentiment. Leia had come back up for dinner, wanting something other than the somewhat gamey meat that the Ewoks had to offer. It was going to be synthesized or reconstituted, but they were used to that.

After eating, Luke, Han, and Leia headed back planet side. Leia had some things to do before she settled in for an early evening, but she sent Han and Luke back to her hut to wait for her. As soon as they were there, Luke opened the door and watched Han expectantly. 

“I don’t think either of us are suited to do much of anything,” Han told him.

“We aren’t going to do much of anything,” Luke replied, pushing Han inside. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed, gesturing for Han to do the same.

“What about-“

“Leia and I have talked.”

“So are you two gonna share me or something?” Han asked dryly. 

“Not if you don’t wanna be shared,” Luke said. 

Han shrugged. “I feel like that’s a conversation that we all need to be present for.”

Luke nodded in agreement and patted the bed again. “Besides, I already told you that we’re not doing anything.”

“Then why-“

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I missed you?”

Han froze. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. Of course Luke had missed him. Granted, Han never thought about anyone being any better with him in their life.

He sat down next to Luke.

Luke laid his head on Han’s shoulder, his hand sitting so close to Han’s that the edges of their fingers touched. Han both wanted to relax and pull away, so he settled on sitting stiff and still. 

“I remember, back after the first Death Star, you took really good care of me,” Luke began, seemingly out of nowhere. “You were a good listener.”

So, Luke wanted to vent? Fine by him, Luke deserved to vent. “It really wasn’t a big deal, kid. Still isn’t.”

He felt Luke smile. “I know.”

“So what is this all about?”

Luke pulled away, looking him in the eye. “You’re always so quiet about yourself. You’ve been through a lot-“

“Don’t really wanna talk about it, Luke,” Han interrupted, knowing where this was going.

“Okay,” Luke said after a pregnant pause. It was obvious Luke wanted him to say something, but he fought back that impulse. “It’s an open invitation, though. Any time you want.” 

Han just nodded and sprawled out on one side of the bed, picking up one of Leia’s datapads to read.

Leia came back a couple hours later, just as it was growing dark. She changed into more comfortable clothes, both Han and Luke awkwardly averting their eyes (despite Han dating her and both of them having seen her half naked, even if it hadn’t been by choice.) 

Once she had settled into the space between them, she curled up against Han’s back.

“Hey, princess,” Han mumbled, putting down the datapad and rolling over to kiss her forehead. 

“Hey,” she said softly. “Did Luke tell you about my suggestion?”

“The sharing thing?” Han asked. 

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” Leia almost laughed. “I know polyamory is common on some planets, including Corellia...”

“Doesn’t mean every Corellian is particularly interested in it, though,” Han countered. 

“Are you?”

Han shrugged. “Leia, you know I’m not... A relationship kinda guy.”

“You’re so guarded,” Leia sighed, nonjudgemental and mostly resigned. “I wish... I wish you trusted me.”

“Ditto,” Luke chimed in.

“I do!” Han insisted. “It’s... It’s just hard.”

“Trust me, I know how you feel,” Leia said, playing with Han’s fingers. “Have you ever thought about seeing someone about not being able to talk to people?”

“What?” Han asked, nearly choking on his own spit. 

“It just seems like it’s rooted in some kind of anxiety,” Leia explained. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but maybe you need to to overcome it?”

Han fell silent at that, looking away from the both of them. 

“Let us be there for you,” Luke said finally, reaching over Leia to guide Han to look at him.

Han’s face burned hot, unable to really think, much less speak. The only person he’d ever cared so much about before Luke and Leia was Chewbacca. Not even Lando came close to how much he loved the two of them.

Han could never imagine leaving Luke and Leia, even if he was still scared of saying yes and what that entailed. 

“I got the scar when I met Chewie,” Han said, seemingly starting at the easiest place. “I hit myself with my blaster trying to kill the guy they’d sent me in with. He wanted to kill Chewie, and I couldn’t take it.

“My dad beat my mom, then one day he left and never came back. They always argued about me. He never liked me. It was my fault he left, and I’ve never been able to get over that.

“Everyone in my life has inevitably hurt me. It’s easier just to stay away. The second I get comfortable around someone, I immediately relapse into isolation because it’s safe and comfortable even though I’m miserable because I can only keep someone around if they owe me a life debt.

“I hate being embarrassed and every time I get close to someone I end up embarrassing myself because I’m a fucking idiot. That’s why it’s hardest. I’m scared of fucking everything up and embarrassing myself worse than I have already.”

Han wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to ground himself. He felt like he might start crying, and he would shoot himself if he did that.

It was still for what felt like an eternity, neither Leia nor Luke saying or doing anything. 

_Good job, dumbass. This is why you don’t tell people these things,_ Han thought miserably. 

Han jumped when he felt something nudging his back. “Slide over,” Luke said, gently pushing him again.

Han, realizing Leia had moved to occupy the space Luke had earlier, rolled over to lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed. Luke crawled in next to him and wrapped his arms around Han’s waist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to say anything else. 

“Don’t apologize,” Leia mumbled, throwing her arms around his chest and burying her face in his collarbone. 

“I love you, both of you.” It was really the only thing Han could think of to do that wasn’t just him getting up and throwing himself off of the platform.

“We love you, too,” Luke and Leia said in eerie synchronicity, which made Luke start laughing and instantly defused the tension.

Han was crying now, but it wasn’t as heavy as it could have been. 

They fell asleep like that, all tangled together, Han at the center of the pile. They all knew that there would be more negotiating, more navigating the relationship as they tried to build it. Han knew that he hadn’t been cured of his problems, that there would be days, even weeks where he was still frustratingly distant. 

For now, though, he had people he could relax around. And that was enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic began its life as a modern au but my heart reeeeally wasn’t in it and i couldn’t figure out where it was going so i rewrote it in the actual sw universe
> 
> this was a total vent fic and i appreciate it if you managed to actually finish this monster that has taken me over two months to write oh my god
> 
> title came from the working title of panic! at the disco’s “camisado”, which doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with this fic, but it is on my han solo playlist
> 
> also if chewie can fly the millennium falcon he can totally write in basic that’s just the tea


End file.
